we are ARCHITECT
by And The Adversary Succeeds
Summary: AU: There is so much more beyond the House, beyond even the Secondary Realms. A world is about to be opened up, and with it comes a mystery and an ancient struggle that threatens all of existence. - Ch. 4 is up! -
1. Dusty Darkness

_This is AU, so if you don't like it don't read it. I don't know if this will work out or not, but I have a concept and a plot, and I'm gonna go with it!_

1: Dusty Darkness

Everything was encompassed in a kind of black that seemed to suck the very breath out of you. Like it was a great weight pushing in on you, trying to squeeze the life out of you. Only the faint, stray beams of light poking through offered any sort of reprieve.

These beams illuminated a thin cloud of dust as the specks passed through from darkness into the light and through the dim in between. The specks swirled and swarmed; dancing fluidly upon stray breaths and breezes brought by movement, but not the movement of people.

These faint beams fell on a stone table. It was shaped like an octagon, and the sides were colored a faint, caramel brown. The top of the table was covered by a mosaic, the tiny pieces formed from colored clay. Its age should not have been easy to tell – nor should it have appeared aged at all – but its maker had wanted it to appear ancient. Some of the small tiles were cracked, faded, some even missing.

The light brightened the area around the table only barely. It rested on the exact center of a small island of brown stone, the same color as the table. In fact, they seemed to be attached, as if the table and the island were cut from the same block. Almost as if it had once been a huge chunk of stone, and most of it had simply been carved away.

Beyond the island was a murky, gray-black nothingness. A thick, swirling, formless emptiness. But in fact, it was a sea of dust. So much of it that it looked like it was solid, like it could be touched should one reach out to it. It was simply a great cloud.

The dust rippled, and a figure stepped through onto the island as if stepping off of solid ground. It was a robed figure, barely discernable in the darkness. Its clothing seemed like a single, large sheet had been draped over a person. It hid feet, arms, hand, and the figure's face – if it had any of those, to begin with.

It moved silently and swiftly to the table in the center of the island. There were three more ripples, and three more figures – none robed like the first, though one did trail some strange cloud – stepped onto the island and approached the table in the middle. The shadows hid them, as well. But they all knew who the others were. They did not move so swiftly, nor so silently. Footsteps resounded – both low and echoing, and loud and booming, and one set that clacked and cracked.

Each stopped at one side of the table, until all four were taken. There were spaces in between them for more, but no others would show. It was just them. The matter that had called them together was a matter only for them to deal with. No others need be bothered, no others were capable enough.

No others were high enough.

"Could we hurry and get this over with?" asked one in a deep, gravelly voice. "I have more important things to tend to." he added, sounding rushed.

"Really, and what could that possibly be?" another asked with a sigh. His voice sounded relatively normal, though there was the underlying hint of some ancient sorcery or power to it.

"Keep to your own affairs, Nu-"

"_Enough!_" the robed one spoke, its hidden head twisting quickly to look at one and then the other, the folds of its robe waving as it moved. Its voice was odd. It had a liquid sound to it, like it was not quite there. "_This is a very serious matter, and __**it**__ takes presidence over any of your personal matters._"

"Of course." grunted the one with the deep voice.

"My sincerest apologies." the other said.

The fourth tilted it head to the side and layed a single hand on the table. It seemed to be made of glass or crystal, and it ended in sharp spikes. The tips made sharp, high pitched cracking noises as they slowly lowered to rest upon the mosaic tiles, and thin strands of icy white mist drifted with the hand and over the table, dissipating quickly.

A voice moved through the minds of the three, as it did not truly speak, "I presume that this has something to do with the New one?" it asked. Though it did not physically speak, the sound of ice hissing and popping also ran through their minds as the being "spoke".

The robed being nodded, "_Indeed._" it confirmed. "_Now comes the time to make a decision of great importance._"

"Whether or not to introduce him to us?" asked the one with the normal voice.

The robed one inclined its head once more, "_Yes. The New Architect – as he called himself – is still unaware, we-_"

"As his predecessor was." the gravelly voiced one spoke again.

"Not of her own decision, mind _you_." the airy, icy whispering came again. The other three were silent for a moment.

"Touche." came the grunted reply.

"Well, that was an interesting show of irony." muttered the normal voice, a hint of amusement buried within the comment.

"I do have my moments." the whisper replied.

"_Once again we stray from the matter at hand._"

"Right!" the normal one said again. "So, what are our options? I believe someone has already mentioned simply letting him stay ignorant?"

"_Indeed._" the robed one answered. "_Not quite, actually, but yes, that is an option. But, I must let it be known that I do not support such action. However, it is a majority rule. So, what say you?_"

"I do not see a reason to bother with him." snorted the gravelly one with obvious disinterest. He was already bored of the matter.

"What would the harm be in simply letting him know?" asked the normal voice. This was one of the few times a situation such as this had risen. Though the circumstances surrounding it were unique, and he did not know just how to go about the matter.

"There would be little." came the whisper.

_"He would simply go about his days without consciously acknowledging our influences._"

"On the other hand we would not have to bother with the whelp." the deep voice muttered irritatedly.

"What do you have against him?" the normal voice asked. He was perplexed as to his dislike of the person in question. He did not like most people to begin with, but there was always a reason. He could see none here.

"My business is my own!" the gravelly voice snarled.

There was a brief pause, "Very well." the normal voice said, backing down.

"I believe that it would be better for him if he were to know of us." the whisper said, devoid of emotion as it almost always was.

The three looked to the normal voice, "Well?" the gravelly voice asked impatiently.

There was a low sigh, "I . . I think we should induct him."

The deep voice let out an annoyed groan, "Great! You can deal with him!"

"Me?" the normal voice cried indignantly.

"Yes." the gravelly voice stated authoritatively.

The normal voice caught the tone and felt a surge of anger from deep within, "How dare you! You have no power over me, you prideful-"

"_Silence!_" the robed one ordered. The normal voice fell silent. "_Maybe it would be best should __**you**__ handle the introductions._"

"I'm a little busy at the moment." the normal voice muttered, feeling defeated, and shamed at his outburst. "I cannot do it personally-"

"Then send one of your Numerary Ultimas." the deep voice suggested with barely contained rage. "Just to inform this _New Architect _to expect a visitor. Send Alpha, Mu, or Omega. It's your choice, just do it and leave me alone!" he turned to the robed one and asked if he could leave. The robed one nodded, and he turned and departed the same way he had come: By stepping through the murky sea of dust.

"He seems more agitated than normal." the normal voice said, thinking aloud.

"_It is not our place to pry._" the robed one said.

"No," the normal voice said thoughtfully, "no, it's not." he turned to leave and noticed that the other one, the one with the whispery voice, had already gone. Looking back he found that the robed one had departed as well. With a sigh he stepped into the dusty darkness and vanished.

All that was left was the island, and the table, and the swarming dust. All made just barely visible by the thin strands of dim-gold light wafting down from nowhere.


	2. The Omega Man

2: The Omega Man

Out of the many changes to the House, one of the things that remained the same was the highest demesne. The true epicenter of the universe: The Incomparable Gardens. Though, really it was the Elysium, but, it was the same difference.

The same false sun still moved overhead, there were still sectioned gardens, all inersected by the huge hedges. There were still large, insectoid Nithlings guarding the Gardens from any who would try to attack it – though, these days nobody really had the mind to rebel or usurp like they did before the Will of the Architect was done.

Partial contribution went to the fact that the New Architect made sure to keep the new Court of Days in order. Though he did give them some level of autonomy. They had to be capable of running the House should – in some extremely unlikely event – he could not be present.

Though the new Morrow Days were kept in order quite efficiently by the new ruler of the Gardens: Lady Sunday. Viewed as quite eccentric – which the lesser Morrow Days would never say to her face – she managed to keep them busy and from doing anything stupid. Needless to say, she was an effective leader, even without the New Architect's presence.

Most Denizens were either absolutely terrified of her or simply saw her as quite amusing.

The Elysium was still the same. Still with the multiple levels, and the highmost tier still had the same fountain and other arrangements – though minus the sorcerous cage that once housed Part Seven of the Will. Though there was now in its place a tent. Quite sorcerous as well, for though it did not look large on the outside the inside was a huge building all on its own.

A white, layed back chair was set near the front edge of the Elysium, and on it sat Lady Sunday, previously known as Suzy Turqouise Blue – though still called Suzy by the New Architect and the new Captain Keeper of the Front Door – whose mortal name was once Suzanna Dyer.

She was laying back on her chair, eyes closed and with a small smile turning her lips. Around her neck was a chain, and on the end was a _very_ tiny golden key. In order to properly rule her demesne she needed the Seventh Key, after all. And the New Architect had long ago found that he no longer required the Keys to rule the House.

She frowned when an odd shadow was cast over her eyes and grunted with displeasure before opening them. She flinched and though her lips tiwsted into a grimace there was a mischevious sparkle in her eyes, "Blimey, Art! Ye' ought not to be sneakin' up on people like that!"

The New Architect – or Art, to his second-in-command – chuckled at the once Piper's Child's comment. He was turned towards the sun, and wore an ensemble of what would be considered modern clothes from the Earth he had once come from. A pair of sunglasses covered his eyes, and his thick head of hair had lost its appearance of spun gold. He had changed it to look more like his old hair, though it still looked a little too perfect.

"I didn't sneak." he stated simply, casting a glance down at the woman.

"I count them Stairs as sneakin'." Suzy replied. "I can never tell when you're gonna be poppin' up!"

Art shrugged, "I'm sure you'll get used to it." he said. "Eventually." he added after a quick afterthought.

"Right." Suzy grunted. She sat up and looked out over the Gardens. "So, how 're thing goin' in the Far Reaches?"she asked. She knew that parts of the House were still problematic, but she wasn't the one who dealt with them directly.

"Better." the New Architect answered with a sigh. He lowered into a sitting position and removed his glasses. His eyes rolled to Suzy and he continued, "Tuesday isn't like the first, so-"

"That ol' Grim Tuesday sure was a piece o' work." Lady Sunday grumbled, remembering the old Morrow Day.

"He became worse after he disobeyed the Architect. Tuesday knows what will happen if she delves too deep like Grim did." Arthur explained. The new Tuesday was a female Denizen. She had been allowed to take her own title. Much to both the surprise of Art and Suzy, she picked "Dark Tuesday".

Suzy had later remarked, "I don't know if that's better 'er worse than _Grim_."

"Just tell 'er to watch them eyebrows." Suzy said with a laugh. "So ye' think she'll be orright with just the spring?" she asked dubiously. She still didn't completely trust the new Morrow Days.

"I can only hope." Art answered seriously. "That's one of the problems with free will. You can make your own decisions, but-"

"Don't mean ye' ain't gonna blow up the universe!" Suzy finished enthusiastically, beaming down at the New Architect. A wide grin slowly broke out on Art's face as the two began to laugh.

"Your optimism is encouraging." he answered dryly, though still with a hint of amusement. Suzy had always been that way. Just a little off, though he still trusted her judgement entirely.

Well . . for the most part.

"There's ought to be someone 'round here wit' a lil' sense o' humor, Art!" she replied, acting a little shocked. "Else it'll be just like in the ol' days! All the Denizens'll be just a bunch a' narrow minded twits!"

"I suppose it's not good for one's health?" Art asked, smirking just a little.

"Right on it." Suzy confirmed with a quick nod.

The New Architect slipped his glasses back on and stood back up, "I think I've rested long enough." he said. "There are still a few problems on the Border Sea I need to look into."

Suzy nodded solemnly, "The Line 'o Storms actin' up again?" she asked.

"Mm." Art nodded.

Suzy's shoulder sagged and she looked back to the Gardens, "Ye shouldn't be workin' yerself so hard, Art!" she said earnestly. The New Architect sighed and was about to speak when she cut him off with, "You're doin' so much work, but ye don't take any time for yerself!"

"I'm needed, Suzy." the New Architect insisted. "I can't just sit by while there are still things in the House that need to be fixed. I can't just recreate it and expect everyone else to follow me as a leader if I can't – or don't – make it safe for them."

Suzy started to pout, "Fine." she looked back at the New Architect, "But ye do need to rest more often."

Art smiled, though it looked a little strained, "I don't need rest, Suzy." he said. "Remember, I'm the Architect, now."

Lady Sunday rolled her eyes and turned away from him, "I think all that power went right t' yer 'ead." she muttered. She barely registered his shadow vanishing and looked to see he was gone again. "Yer getting' rude, too!" she grumbled.

She scooted to the edge of the chair and stood up. She wasn't wearing any shoes, but she didn't need to worry about stepping on anything. She looked back at the tent and called out, "Sunday's Noon!" unlike before, her Dawn, Noon, and Dusk were not plant-like. Why? Because she found it rather off putting.

Instead, she'd opted for more normal Denizens to fill those posts. And she had hand picked – in a sense – her Noon. Just to spite him, the old Lord Sunday was now her Noon. Though without the silver tongue.

The tent flap opened and the Denizen who had once been the Lord of the Incomparable Gardens stepped out. Now cured of his sin of pride, he was more willing to work as Sundays' Noon – though the New Architect had offered him the position of Saturday, first. He simply loved the Gardens, and even if the only way of remaining in them was to be Noon to the new Sunday he would do it. Suzy was mostly civil to him, but every so often would make one crack or another about his old post or the like.

He tolerated her.

"Yes, milady?" he asked, standing still taller than Suzy. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood ready. Suzy hid a smile, she never called Art "Sir" and had usually acted as improper as she could get away with around Dame Primus, but she had to admit, she liked being called "Ma'am" or "Milady".

"Call down t' the Great Maze n' ask if they're still avin' troubles wit' the tiles." she ordered. It had not taken her much thought after Art had left to decide what she needed – or wanted – to do. She would try and help him any way she could. The Seventh Key was paramount, wasn't it?

Sunday raised an eyebrow, "Ma'am?" he asked curiosly, his voice close to monotone, "I mean no disrespect, but . . isn't that more a job for the New Archi-"

"Well I'm his right-hand-man aren't I?" Suzy asked. She paused. "Woman." she corrected quickly.

Sunday's eyes shone with slight amusement, "Yes, milady." he asnwered stoically.

"Then why shouldn't I be helpin' 'im when e's off tryin' to fix sumthin' else?"

"I never said that you shouldn't help him." Sunday stated.

Suzy crinkled her nose, "I'm the 'ead o' the Morrow Days 'n I think I should be doin' my part, too." she insisted.

Sunday nodded, "Very well, milady." he relented, and went back into the tent.

Suzy smiled, _He seems to be comin' 'round right nicely._

An odd feeling made her turn back to the edge of the Elysium. She squinted and noticed that a winged figure was coming towards her. She raised her right hand and closed it around the Seventh Key. Her eyes magically zoomed in on the incoming figure, which was her Dusk. He was still called "The Reaper" and even had his own scythe, but he was not green nor did he seem like a plant.

Large, midnight black wings were worn on the back of his black frock coat. He also wore black breeches and shoes, which were covered by black spats, as well.

He began to slow as he neared the Elysium and righted himself as he flew over Suzy. He landed in between her and the tent. His wings folded closed and he bowed his head in greeting to Lady Sunday.

"Sumthin' wrong, Dusk?" Suzy asked. Every so often something would require her intervention, but for the most part her Dawn, Noon, and Dusk ran the Gardens efficiently.

The tall, dark Denizen nodded, "Yes, ma'am." he answered. There was something off with him. His eyes kept glancing back behind her nervously.

Suzy frowned and whirled around, but saw no one. She wondered if maybe something had gone wrong with the Drasils, but she was sure that she would notice. Especially since such an incident would mean that the Gardens would start to _fall_.

She turned curiously back to her Dusk, "Wot's the matter, Dusk?"

The Denizen was about to speak but glanced back when Sunday stepped out of the tent. The two Denizens acknowledged one another with a nod. Sunday looked to Suzy, "Sir Thursday reports no problems with the Maze, milady." he said.

Suzy nodded, "Good." _Darn!_ "Dusk here looks like e's just seen a ghost." she redirected her attention back to the dark Denizen, "So wot's the matter, then?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

"As I was working someone approached me, ma'am. He was asking me where the 'ruler of this Realm' was. He looked rather like a Denizen, but there was something off about him." he looked to Sunday and then back to Suzy. "And more than just the way he was dressed."

Suzy was taken aback, "Well wot's the way he's dressed got t' do wit' it?"

Dusk shrugged, "It made him seem all the more off, ma'am."

Suzy rolled her eyes, _Denizens!_

"Orright, then," she started with a sigh, "where is he?" she asked. Both her Noon and her Dusk were silent.

Sunday lifted a hand and pointed behind Suzy, "I believe _that_ is him." he said. Dusk nodded vigiorously.

Suzy's eyes widened and she sprang forward, turning before she touched the ground. Her hand went to her Key as she faced the mysterious stranger. Her Dusk was right, he was dressed rather oddly.

His hair was thick and black, though kept short, contrasting with the utter white of his flesh. He wore a black pinstripe suit and shiny black dess shoes. Underneath his blazer was dark red dress shirt, with an inky black tie worn over it, tucked under the front of his blazer. His hands were also hidden by black gloves.

Suzy's eyes narrowed at the oddly-dressed intruder, "Who are you 'n wot 'r you doin' in my Gardens?" she demanded of him, her accent thickening.

"In translation-" Sunday began, but Suzy cut him off with, "If he didn't understand me he can ask me 'imself!"

The man's thin lips quirked into a smile, and his blood-red eyes lowered to her hand which was clasped around the Key. He chuckled – a deep, eery sound that sent a shiver down Suzy's spine. Dusk's hand tighened around the shaft of his scythe, and he made to go between her and this man.

"There will be no need for either or those." said the man, halting Dusk in his tracks. His voice was low, yet deep. It sounded more like it came from deep within his throat, and resounded slightly as he spoke. His lips peeled back barely into a wider smile, revealing stark white teeth, "Lest you wish to run off the messenger."

Suzy's eyebrow slowly rose as she eyed the man curiously, "Wot d' ye' mean by _messenger_?" she asked.

"I was sent here, to this . ." he paused in thought. "What is the name of this place, exactly?"

Suzy furrowed her brow, growing even more confused, "The Incompar-"

"_Not_ the demesne, the whole of it." the man stated, more firmly this time.

"Am I missing something?" Dusk asked.

"More 'n ye' know, Dusk." Suzy murmured, casting a glance back at the scythe-wielding Denizen. He did look rather perplexed. "I'm at a loss, too." this she said a little louder, looking back at the man. "You mean the House?" she asked.

He nodded, "Yes! That was it." he said. "I have not paid much attention to it for some time."

"Where were you sent from?" Sunday asked.

"What he asked!" Suzy snapped.

The man's smile faded a little, "From outside the House."

"That's impossible." Suzy said. "How'd you get in 'ere from the Secondary Realms?"

The man rolled his eyes impatiently, "Beyond those, too." he sighed.

Suzy scratched her head with her free hand, "There's Thirdondary Realms?" she asked. The Denizen who was previously Lord Sunday groaned and covered his face with his hand.

The man's eyes widened, "Who in the Great Void placed you in any position of power?"

Suzy and Dusk both pointed behind him, "He did." they both stated – though Suzy's had a thicker accent, making it sound odd. The man turned and came face-to-face with the New Architect. Art had his arms folded across his chest and he had changed his height so that he was a head above this newcomer.

"At last!" the man exclaimed. "You are the Architect of this Realm?"

Art's expression was serious as he examined the man. He caught sight of his red eyes and noticed something odd about them. Inside the irises, encircling the greater portion of both pupils, were the iconic horseshoe shaped symbols of omega.

"I am." Arthur answered, letting his voice resonate somewhat. "And who might you be?" he asked.

The man took a step back and bowed low, "Numerary Ultima Omega." he answered, rising back to his full height. "And I come bearing greetings from my master."

"Your master?" the New Architect asked. "And just where do you come from?"

"From beyond your Secondary Realms." he answered. He stretched his arms out and said, "Beyond your Realm entirely, New Architect!"

"E's been spewin' gibberish like this for a while now, Artie." Suzy explained, keeping her grip on her Key.

The man's arms fell to his sides and he turned to look at the woman, "_Artie_?"

Suzy frowned, "Yeah. Ye got a problem wit' his name?" she asked.

"His . . What impropriety!" Omega turned back to Art. "You allow her the disobedience of calling you by-"

Art took a step forward, and Omega one back, "I decide what is and is not disobedience, _Omega_." the New Architect said.

"Of course, Architect." Omega said in a defeated tone. "I apologize."

Art nodded, "Why are you here? And what do you mean by beyond the Secondary Realms?"

Omega smiled, "Your lack of knowledge is exactly the matter that is to be addressed, great Architect, but not by one such as I." he explained. "I have simply been sent to inform you that my master will be coming soon, he will explain to you what you do not know."

Art took a deep breath, "Who is your master?" he asked.

Omega lowered his head in reverence as he answered, "The great Architect, Majuscule Numerin." he slowly lifted his head. "And now I must be going, you may expect my master soon." he said. Art was about to speak when Omega reached into the inner pocket of his blazer. When he withdrew his hand he held in it a golden pocketwatch. He opened the golden watch and spoke in a commanding voice, "The Tower!" and then he was gone.

There was no flash of light, no noise at all. One moment the stranger Omega was standing before the New Architect, and the next he was no longer there. Art's size changed back to what it usually was and he looked at the three before him, "You are unharmed?" he asked.

Suzy nodded, "I'm orright, Art." she answered happily.

"I'm confused." Dusk murmured.

Sunday slowly circled around Dusk and Lady Sunday, but kept his distance from the New Architect, "It seems we all are at a loss." he said thoughtfully, looking at Art, who nodded in agreement. Though Sunday had once been his enemy, the Denizen was very ancient, and the New Architect new that he could be a valuable asset in certain situations.

Suzy frowned, "How'd you know he was 'ere?" she asked.

"I felt a presence within the House. It was alien, and I felt that I needed to check on it." he answered matter-of-factly.

Suzy nodded, "Oh." she released her Key. "So, everythin' fine on the Sea?" she asked.

"I doubt the Line of Storms will act up anytime soon." Art replied.

"Well, that's good." Suzy paused and looked behind her at Dusk, who was staring at the ground in thought. "Oi!" she snapped. Dusk blinked and looked up.

"Ma'am?" he asked, straightening immediately.

"I don't pay ye t' stand around!"

"You don't pay me at all." Dusk replied, somewhat confused by her comment.

Suzy nodded, "Right." she drawled. "Well . . get back to work!" she ordered.

Dusk nodded, "Yes, ma'am." he bowed to the New Architect before spreading his wings and lifting off.

Suzy shook her head, "Ye still didn't make 'em smart enough, I think." she said to Art.

"Give them time." the New Architect said with a smile. "In the mean time, now that there is a moment of peace I would like you to call together the Court of Days. Have them meet in the Hall." he said.

Suzy nodded, "Ye gonna tell 'em 'bout-"

"Yes." Art answered.

"And where are ye gonna go?" Suzy asked wryly, knowing that the New Architect was going to vanish while she called together the Court.

Art smiled, there was no getting past her, "Monday's Dayroom, there's something I need to tend to. It won't take long." he said. "And besides," he added, "I want to be able to make an entrance." he said jokingly.

Suzy smirked, "Some smoke 'n mirrors, Artie?" she chuckled.

"Do I really need them?" Art asked.

Suzy shook her head, "Nope." she looked around and furrowed her brow, "Now where'd Sunday get off to?" she muttered, heading into the tent. The New Architect vanished via the Improbably Stair, his destination was Monday's Dayroom. He needed to prepare should this Majuscule Numerin appear during the meeting.

He planned on speaking to this "Architect" alone.


	3. The Hall of Days

3: The Hall of Days

One of the changes made to the House was what seemed from the outside a minor one: The tent atop the Elysium. As previously stated, the tent was in truth a massive building on the inside, concealed by sorcery and made to appear small. Though the New Architect could have very easily created the actual building on the side of the Elysium, he opted for the second option. Mostly because he thought the Elysium was fine the way it was.

Within the tent was the Hall of Days. Each demesne had its own "command center", and this was now Lady Sunday's, whereas for Lord Sunday it had been the Elysium alone. The Hall of Days was only one portion of the inner construct, as it was the middle level of the inside. The bottom floor was simply for whosoever was currently "visiting" the Gardens from another part of the House. The upper floor was private, for Lady Sunday alone.

_That_ was another thing Suzy had asked of Art.

The Hall of Days was accessible from the lower floor by two curving stairways on either side of the entrance of the tent. Both had a rail on one edge, and were bordered by the wall on the other. There was no balcony looking down onto the lower floor, the Hall was cut off, meant to be as private as possible for when it was in use. Though there were no doors blocking the two entrances to the Hall from below, a little charm helped to make sure that no one below would be able to listen in on anything above. At the back of the Hall – in the far right corner – was another stairwell that curved up into the wall, this led to Suzy's private upper floor.

The long, rectangular table itself – and most of the wood that the inner building was made of – was a mix of red and maroon in color, though predominantly red. The outer edge was gilded, and there were telephones built into the table at each seating. Eight chairs were dotted around the table: Six on either side, and one on either end. They were all the same, and similar to thrones in their tall, comfortable appearances. A large, thick rug ran most of the length and width of the room, under the table and chairs.

Sunday and Suzy were already present in the Hall – he being the only Denizen allowed in – she in her seat near the back of the room, and he standing patiently, deep in thought.

Suzy was leaning back in her chair, both feet propped up on the table. She stared at the ceiling with a bored glaze in her eyes, wondering when the other Days would arrive.

_They can't be _that_ busy!_

She sat up and started spinning her chair around in a circle to attempt and relieve the boredom. This drew a rather odd look from Sunday. She didn't notice. In fact, she just looked back up at the ceiling.

She started reciting a rhyme that had been passed around the House:

"_Lord Arthur rules the House and all who dwell within:_

_Master Monday, not so sleepy, is buried by stacks and stacks of papers,  
__Too busy to be tired, but should he doze off he'll be turned into a paper parcel–_

_Dark Tuesday, hiding in her hole,  
__So sad, she rules the murky Reaches all alone–_

_Duchess Wednesday is not yet drowned,  
__Nor has she devoured her times, we've found–_

_Commander Thursday leads the Army,  
__Disobey a single order a through a window you'll go–_

_Lady Friday works those that bind and gild,  
__Beside the Extremely Grand Canal, whose waters have an odd flow–_

_Grand Saturday, master of House sorcery,  
__Studies the magics they say he once failed–_

_Lady Sunday observes great Gardens,  
__Once a Piper's Child, she now stands at Lord Arthur's side–_

_And terrible Lord Sunday still haunts the House's halls._"

"Is that what they are calling me now?" Sunday asked when she was through.

Suzy looked up and a wry smile brightened her face, "Every story needs a villain." she replied.

Sunday chuckled, "Yes, I suppose so, but . . . it was ultimately the Will that destroyed everything. I was going to put it all back in order."

"So ye' say." Suzy said with a wink.

Sunday nodded, "And no one will ever believe me." he sighed, slowly shaking his turned when she heard the sound of feet on the hardwood floor. A tall Denizen with dark brown hair and a fine beard wearing a black morning coat over a wing collar shirt, suspenders, a gray waistcoat and similarly colored ascot, and gray striped pants had appeared suddenly – more than likely via the Stair.

"'Bout time someone showed up!" Suzy grumbled, sitting up quickly.

Monday bowed his head quickly in greeting, "Lady Sunday," he looked up at her curiously, "I take it you have been waiting longer than liked?" Monday looked around the room – his gaze slowing on the still stoic Sunday – before looking back at Suzy. "And I see that I am the first to arrive."

"If you were the ol' Monday ye'd have been the last." Suzy commented.

As Monday sat down he nodded, "Or the first, if only just to get the process of moving over with." he said with a good natured laugh.

Suzy shrugged and slumped in her chair, "Eh."

The two flinched when a second Denizen appeared suddenly. This one was fitted a bright, white and gold military uniform. A baton was hung from his belt. He faced Suzy and criply saluted his superior, "Lady Sunday, I apologize for my tardiness." he eyed Monday and added, "Especially for not being faster than _him_!"

Monday frowned, "Me?"

"Given the nature of your predecessor it is only natural-"

"I'm not _Mister_ Monday!" the lowest Morrow Days snapped, his hands tighening into fists.

"No, you have adopted a more . . conspicuous title." Thursday replied.

Suzy slowly closed her eyes and sighed, "'Ere we go." she muttered under her breath. She had hoped that the new Court of Days would be easier to manage than the old seemed. It turned out that the new Morrow Days – even without their sins – feuded almost naturally.

After Thursday had taken his proper seat, the new Lady Friday appeared. Her hair was down to her waist, and shimmered like pure gold. She wore a long, slim white dress with but a single pocket in it, where she kept the Fifth Key. She acknowledged the two other Days with a curt nod and a trace smile as she seated herself to Suzy's left.

Dark Tuesday appeared next. Her shoulder-length _pink_ hair contrasted with her dark clothing. One article of which was the high, stripped collared black cloak that she always seemed to wear. The silver gauntlets of the Second Key hid her hands.

"Lady Sunday." she greeted Suzy with a nod. She glanced at the other three Morrow Days and the once-leader of the old Days as she seated herself in the chair across from Monday's.

"Hmph!" Thursday huffed, casting a disapproving glare at Tuesday, who was in the chair to his right.

"Something the matter, Thursday?" Dark Tuesday asked in a low voice, her eyes rising slowly from the table to the Commander of the Army.

"Yes, as a matter of fact!" the Commander of the Glorious Army of the Architect grumbled. "You did not even acknowledge your peers!"

Tuesday arched an eyebrow, "Really? I looked at you, isn't that enough?"

Suzy sighed, "That's enough, you two!" she ordered, eyeing the two Days sternly. She shook her head, wondering why they couldn't at least _pretend_ to get along.

"You will get used to eventually." she flinched at the whispered comment, and looked to her right to find that Sunday had moved to stand next to her chair.

"Did ye 'af t' deal wit' this?" Suzy asked, looking over the other Days and then back at Sunday.

Sunday's lips barely quirked into a smile, "Yes and no." he answered. "We . . tolerated one another. I think it is only natural when the Keys place classes in the Days. Eventually they will become more civil."

"I 'ope." Suzy groaned.

Sunady pondered something for a moment, running the thought through his head before saying, "I may be out of line, but . ." he leaned closer and whispered, "it may not help that this time Sunday is – or, was – a mortal at one point."

Suzy furrowed her brow and slowly looked up at Sunday, "I never considered that." she muttered, glancing back at the other Morrow Days.

"I would not dwell on it were I you." Sunday advised before taking a step back from her chair. The next person to appear was Doctor Scamandros, who was also the new Saturday. The Sixth Key was kept between his ear and the side of his head. When he took the position of Saturday he changed his title from "Superior" to "Grand". In his opinion it was a little less . . stuck up.

Suzy smiled at her old friend, "'Ello, Doc!" she greeted happily. Scamandros nodded to her, a smile briefly appearing on his face until he caught sight of Sunday standing behind her chair.

"Hello, Miss Blue." the new Saturday said, taking his seat to her right.

Suzy looked over the Morrow Days and sighed, "Looks like we've still got t' wait for Wednesday."

"Everyone is late!" Thursday grumbled, shaking his head.

"I was here before _you_!" Monday cried.

"And I suppose he also has an excuse." Tuesday said, looking at Thursday with a brief sneer.

"You wipe that look off of your face!" Thursday bellowed.

"Thursday! Tuesday!" Suzy yelled, sitting up. The two turned their attention to her. "Ye' stop this now 'er I'll-"

"You can use the Key to stop them from talking. They can't fight it, remember?" Sunday whispered from where he stood.

Suzy felt her hand unconciously rising to the Key around her neck, but stopped. She lowered her hand and said, "We're s'posed t' be 'elpin Lord Arthur keep order in the House, right?" she asked.

All the Morrow Days nodded.

"Then grow up!" Suzy yelled. She sunk back into her chair and shook her head. They almost never listened, and all they seemed to do was annoy her. She watched as the other Morrow Days nodded sullenly.

Thursday cleared his throat, "I apologize, ma'am." he looked up at her and steeled his gaze, "An officer should never treat his peers in such a manner."

"One of the main reasons the House fell to pieces before Lord Arthur _was_ do in part to the dissolution of the first Court of Days." Scamandros said thoughtfully, the tattoos on his face turning into scenes of balls of yarn rolling to pieces.

The Morrow Days – all save Suzy and Scamandros – looked up at Sunday.

The ex-Lord of the Incomparable Gardens frowned, "What! I just wanted to be left alone!"

"When you should have been keeping order." Friday said.

"You had the power." Monday added, arching an eyebrow.

Sunday was about to defend himself when Thursday cut him off with, "A Commander-in-Chief should never abandon his post."

"Speaking of your predecessor-" Sunday growled, and Thursday started reaching for his Key.

Suzy grabbed hers first, "Oi! Listen up, you lot!" she snapped. All eyes turned to her, "Now it weren't 'is decision alone that tore up the 'ouse! They were tryin' t' save themselves!"

"Against the order of the Architect." Thursday countered heatedly.

"And yet _Sir_ Thursday followed the examples of myself and Saturday." Sunday commented.

Suzy nodded, glancing back at Sunday for a moment, "'E's right! If Lord Arthur went off 'n made 'is own Will, sayin' that we 'ad to go 'n find an Heir who would destroy us 'n the Universe, would you do it?" she asked, looking at each present Day in order. Before any could reply – though Scamandros kept silent, knowing where she was going – Suzy continued, "Ye can't say fer sure, can ye? 'Ow do ye know? We could end up just like the ol' Days!"

"The way I remember it," Sunday started, looking away from the Days at a new arrival, "only Wednesday tried to sway us the other way." the Days all turned to see that the Duchess had arrived. She wore an ensemble of what looked like the clothes of a ship's captain, though with a wide brimmed hat that fell over one eye. Her hair was shoulder length and curly, and was a deep red in color.

Sunday continued as Wednesday took her seat to Monday's right, "She realized that we had been affected by not obeying the Architect, and tried to get Saturday to help her usurp myself and the others. Saturday informed us, and we – minus Monday – stripped her of her powers and tossed her into the Sea." he sighed. "And yes, I could have stopped them, but . . I didn't care about anything other than my own demesne anymore.

"Monday only wanted to sleep. Tuesday only wanted more. Wednesday was forced to eat everything. Thursday was consumed by rage, and followed mine and Saturday's orders. Friday wanted to _experience_. Saturday wanted what was mine, and . . you already know what I wanted." Sunday said, looking at each of the new Morrow Days in turn as he spoke.

The Morrow Days – save Suzy and Scamandros – looked down at the table or off into space in silent thought. Suzy turned her chair slightly and winked at Sunday, who smiled softly in response. The sound of clapping all drew their attention to the New Architect, who had appeared silently without their knowing.

"I believe that situation was handled quite nicely." Art said, the corner of his mouth turning up into a small smile. He took off his glasses and they faded away. He took a seat at the other end of the table, opposite Suzy. "And what both my new Sunday – and the old – said is very true, and must be taken to heart." he said, watching as each new Morrow Days nodded in agreement.

Suzy slumped in her chair and let out a deep breath, "I guess we can start, now?" she asked.

Art nodded, "Yes, we can." he laid his forearms on the table and clasped his hands together, "For those of you who do not know, we have been . . visited." he said, hesitating in order to find the right word. The Days, minus Suzy, gave the New Architect odd looks.

"'E was dressed pretty strange, too." Suzy pointed out, spinning in her chair again.

Arthur chuckled at the new Sunday and nodded, "Different from what is . . House fashion, I guess we could say. But, that is not the point. What matters is what he came to tell us. He introduced himself as Numerary Ultima Omega. Now, at first that almost sounds like _Supernumerary_, but we found out very quickly that he was not of the House, nor the Secondary Realms-"

"And there ain't no Thirdondary Realms, neither!" Suzy added amidst her spinning.

"Quite." Sunday groaned, rolling his eyes. This remark earned him a glare from Suzy on one of her passes. Which he promptly ignored, of course. There was a murmur amongst the other Morrow Days at this revelation. How could someone be from _beyond_ the Secondary Realms? That was the end of it all, right? Time began with and at the House, and ended at the edge of the Universe.

Didn't it?

They looked to the New Architect for an explanation. Art looked at each of the curious – and in some cases, nervous – Morrow Days and sighed. He was about to speak again when Suzy suddenly asked, "Couldn't we get some tea in 'ere?" as she spun around. Art couldn't help but smile at the murmur of approval at the idea from the Morrow Days. Just as he was about to do as they requested, Suzy piped up again with, "And some biscuits, too?"

Art nodded and three trays appeared across the table, each with a teapot and two cups along with a plate of biscuits, though the one at Suzy's end had three cups. Suzy immediately stopped spinning.

As the Morrow Days helped themselves Sunday leaned down to Suzy and asked, "Do you always think with your stomach?"

Suzy gave him a disgruntled look and said, "I figured it'd help calm 'em down." Sunday arched an eyebrow and Suzy sighed, "And I felt like 'avin some, too." she relented. Sunday chuckled as he rose back to his full height.

Art asked, "May we continue?" and the Morrow Days nodded slowly. "Good." the New Architect sighed. "Now, I'm sure the question you are all thinking is how could anyone come from beyond the Secondary Realms." the looks in the eyes of his subordinates was all the confirmation he needed. "Well, at the moment I am not sure my own self, but, Omega did say something else that was rather . . perplexing."

Some of the looks from the Days made Suzy think of the line, "Oh, no. Not again!" and she couldn't help but giggle silently at the notion, hiding her mischevious smile behind the rim of her teacup.

"I believe he mentioned that his master was an _Architect_." Sunday said. The Days turned their disbelief to him. The once-Lord frowned, "Do not look at me as if I know the answer!"

"Well you are the Old Architect's son!" Monday said, looking at the other Morrow Days who nodded in agreement.

Sunday rolled his eyes, "Yes, and we were quite the family." he grumbled. "I don't know anything, and I have the feeling that maybe even my mother did not." he stated firmly, glaring at the Morrow Days as if daring them to defy his word.

But, they shrunk away from the challenging look. Thursday sighed and said in a thoughtful voice, "So it seems that we have quite the mystery on our hands."

"It makes sense . ." Scamandros said quietly, but nonetheless attracted the attention of the other Morrow Days. With a sigh he explained, "The Architect emerged from Nothing, correct? At least that is what we have been told." the Days nodded. "And what are Nithlings, exactly? For the most part?" he looked at his peers.

"For the most part they are self-existing beings who come from Nothing." Tuesday answered. "Most are made without our help."

Scamandros pointed at her and nodded, "Indeed. Although they have nowhere near the intellect or the power of our original maker, the Old Architect. But," he leaned forward, clasping his hands together over the table as Art did, "it would make sense if it were possible that other Architects could be born from Nothing, as well, correct? The Void, after all, is infinite, as far as we know."

"The Doc's right!" Suzy said. "For all we know the House and the Secondary Realms could just be a lil' fish compared to the full o' the Void."

"Perhaps there is some connection between what our Lady Sunday and Grand Saturday have pointed out with Omega having said the words: 'Who in the _Great Void_'." Sunday mused.

Art nodded, "Yes, perhaps there is." he muttered thoughtfully. "I believe we shall have our answers soon."

Thursday looked at Art curiously, "My Lord?"

"Omega, beforing departing, said that his master was coming here to explain to us the truth." Art clarified. "Or, to me, at least." there was a low murmur again after he said this. "Though I will speak to him alone when he does come." Arthur said, and the Morrow Days quieted. "Your demesnes still need tending to, and I fill you in on all he tells me after he leaves."

"Does this 'Architect' have a name, Lord Arthur?" Wednesday asked.

Art nodded, "Yes. Omega said that his name was Majuscule Numerin." as if speaking the name was a signal, they all heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs from the lower floor. A shadow trailed across the wall and then onto the floor as the newcomer entered the room.

He was tall, taller than the form that Art had assumed at the moment. He had short, dark brown hair that was almost black. He wore a suit, but not one as nice as Omega's. A simple black blazer, unbuttoned, was worn over a crisp, white dress shirt, and a black necktie hung down over his shirt. He also wore black slacks and shiny black dress shoes.

Though he looked very much human – or Denizen, more properly – there was something off about him. Something that made him seem almost menacing. It was almost as if sorcery trailed off of him.

He looked around the room at the gathered peoples and smiled, though it was more of an amused look than a kind, reassuring smile. And when he spoke, there was something off about his voice, "I believe that I have been mentioned?" he asked with a light chuckle. "I am the Architect Majuscule Numerin," his eyes stopped on Art, "and you are the ruler of this Realm, I take it?" he asked. As soon as he spoke, all in the room felt like their minds had cleared. All fear and confusion gone. All worry had vanished. Their minds moved quicker, calculated more accurately.

Art stood up and walked around his chair, "Yes. I am Lord Arthur, Heir to the Old Architect, and ruler of this Kingdom."

Numerin's smile widened barely, "And you take your title well, great Architect." his smile faded somewhat and his eyes fell upon the Morrow Days, who observed him with looks that were a cross between apprehension and confusion. They had expected something . . . more, for lack of a better word. "Is there somewhere more private we may speak?" he asked, his gaze lingering for a moment on the Days before moving to Art. "Unless you would rather-"

Art shook his head, "Do you know of the Improbable Stair?" he asked.

"I do." Numerin answered with a nod. "Though I know it by a different name."

"Very well, follow me." Art said. Numerin cast a last look at the Days before he and the New Architect vanished.

"Well," Monday muttered, taking a sip of tea, "_that_ certainly was different."

"Did any of you hear that?" Sunday asked. All eyes in the room were drawn to him.

"Hear what?" Lady Friday inquired.

"His voice." Sunday answered. He glanced at Scamandros, "Doctor?"

The Doctor nodded absently, "Yes." he answered in a low voice. He felt all eyes on him and cleared his throat, "Sorcery." he clarified. "His voice was laced with it."

"Powerful sorcery." Sunday agreed. "I believe, should he have had half a mind to do so, he could have overtaken ours and made us his slaves."

"Art wouldn't let that happen!" Suzy declared, glaring at Sunday.

Sunday shrugged and snatched Suzy's last biscuit, "Yes, maybe so." he muttered to himself, taking a bite from the biscuit.


	4. Welcome to the Family

4: Welcome to the Family

The Stair had changed. As soon as Art entered it he knew that he was somewhere alien. At first it was no more than an odd tingling in the back of his head, like some part of himself was screaming out that there was something wrong. Though he did not see it at first. He was standing on the white marble steps, all around him was the blinding white light of the infinite nothingness wreathed by – and inside of – all things.

And then it collapsed. The white marble steps vaporized, and black gushed into the white. It was almost like some large, invisible blade had cut gashes into the white, and Nothing was the blood that spilled out – or, maybe it was "in".

He did not try and consider this for a moment, since it was pointless in the long run. He knew that it was pure Nothing that was coming in, and for a moment he almost tried to push it back. He felt his heart speed up, becoming a violent pounding. And then he remembered: _It will not kill me. Not unless I allow it._

The darkness washed over him, completely engulfing the Stair. It had been utterly obliterated, as far as Art could tell. He was floating freely, now. For a moment he just stared into the darkness, but after a minute, then two minutes, and then three minutes had gone by he willed the space around him to light.

This caused a chain reaction:

A new Stair appeared. This one was a spiral, and made of black onyx. The steps seemed to pulse with a dull light that radiated sorcery. Tiny pinpricks of light, like stars, covered the steps faintly. It also lit the Stair, because he was still surrounded by Nothing. Art was now sitting on these steps, and he stood up slowly, looking around for any sign of Numerin.

_Have I been trapped here?_ the thought ran through his mind, even though he did not want to consider it. _It's possible, though. You have to admit._ he sighed solemnly, it was right.

"Possible, but not the case." a strong, sorcery-laced voice clarified. Art looked around but could not see where the Architect was. There was still only inky black; and the odd, starry steps.

"Where am I?" he asked, still turning. His eyes scanned the dim darkness carefully, "What happened to the Improbable Stair? Was it destroyed?"

"I will answer the latter, first." came the voice again, though it sounded a little like a laugh. Art was looking up the stairs when Numerin appeared. Still in his suit, he stepped out of the Nothing and shoved his hands into his pockets. "You are on the Stair of my Realm: The Gateway Stair. As for your former inquiry, no, it was not destroyed. I simply allowed the Void _in_ so that we could come _here_."

Art furrowed his brow and eyed the Architect suspiciously, "So, we are in your . . . Realm? . . . now, Majuscule?"

Numerin nodded, "Yes and no – and my name is Numerin, Majuscule is a rank." he said. "The Gateway is – unlike the Improbable Stair – logical. Where the Stair you use may very well deposit you – though not _you_ specifically – in the most unlikely of places, the Gateway will not. Once on these steps, you will only arrive at your specific choice of destination." he explained, gesturing to the steps with both hands. "It also reaches into all other Realms. So, instead of having to go to another's Realm, I can reach it through this. You would also be able to reach the Gateway Stair through your Stair."

Art nodded slowly, "I . . am not so sure I understand _all_ of that." he stated.

Numerin nodded, "I see. My apologies, I got ahead of myself. I said that I would tell you the situation, yes?"

Art nodded, "That is what Omega said. And, what did he mean when he called himself 'Numerary Ultima'?"

"As with your Morrow Days, the Numerary Ultimas are my personal cabinet." Numerin said, and Art nodded in understanding. "So, I think you should tell me all you know, and then I will clarify what need be afterwards."

"Very well." Art agreed. He explained his knowledge of the Architect, and how She came to be. Her separation into the Old One and the making of the House, the Will, and the ultimate destruction of the House and the Secondary Realms. He also relayed his understanding of the Void and the Universe within it. After he had finished, Numerin remained silent for a moment.

"I see." he mumbled thoughtfully after a few seconds' silence. "Interesting."

"What is?" Art asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"Well," Numerin cleared his throat, "I knew all the events that you described, as we have watched Her works from the beginning to the end – meaning your claiming of Her Keys." he said.

"So why did you not interfere with Her?" Art asked curiously. It did not make much sense for Numerin to come to _him_, but not go to _Her_.

Numerin grimaced, "Interfere is such a strong word." he said distastefully.

Art arched an eyebrow, "But it does fit the bill, correct?"

The Architect sighed, "Yes." he relented. "The reason is more complicated than you would generally think. So, I will start from the beginning."

Art smirked, "I assume that you mean the _very_ beginning?"

Numerin chuckled, "Indeed." he sat down, but Art remained standing. "In the _very_ beginning there was as is similar to the Architect's story: Only Nothing. But, from that Nothing came a single being: Aeon, the First One. Aeon, who was and remains to this day the oldest and strongest of the Architects, created us." he said, pointing at himself.

Art furrowed his brow, "So, Aeon is still around?" he asked.

"Yes." Numerin nodded. "He governs us, the Architects; the Race that is of Aeon. We were made _from_ Him, _by_ Him."

"And how long ago was that?"

Numerin's mouth opened for a moment before he answered, "More than a trillion billion years ago, Lord Arthur." he held up a hand as Art was about to speak and said, "And yes, I do know how that sounds. I created numbers, and let me tell you, it is far too big a number to speak."

"Wait . . what do you mean _you_ created numbers?" Art asked, very confused. He'd thought that every sentient race in the Secondary Realms simply came up with their own version of everything. Some did not even have vocal speech, or numerical alphabets.

"I will come to that." Numerin said. "Anyway, Aeon made a number of Architects first. These are called the Old Architects. Each Old Architect embodies something, and many go hand-in-hand with one another." the Architect explained. "For example, Aeon – who is first – is Time, without which nothing can ever be. Another would be Echo, the Sovereign of Sound. He embodies the power of speech, and the capacity to hear. So, any audible vibrations and the like."

Art realized something, "You are an Old Architect as well, aren't you?"

A wide, almost sinister grin broke out on Numerin's face, "Very astute, Great Architect, very astute, indeed." he nodded his head slowly. "Yes, I am an Old Architect: Numerin, the Lord of Logic. From me comes the very basics of sentience and the like. Understanding and comprehension. I invented letters and numbers. The capacity to form words and more complex _numerals_." he explained, stressing the final word.

Art nodded, "Numerin, numerical. I see."

"Very good." Numerin noted. "Yes, that is the connection. You see, the influence of the Old Architects is like the influence of Time itself. Simply our being here allows all Realms to feel our influence. Though, not all races in the Secondary Realms will actually be affected by them, but most are subject to us."

"So, was She an Old Architect, or-"

"No." Numerin answered quickly. "No, She was an Architect, not one of us – my breed."

Art nodded, "Okay, so where does the Architect come in? Or any of the others, for that matter?"

Numerin nodded and continued, "Well, few Architects made by Aeon have His power to make other Architects. He can, however, temporarily bestow such rights. Or, He can grant permission to those who already have the power."

"Wait," Art interject, "must they be _made_?" he asked. "What about-"

"Conception?" Numerin guessed.

Art nodded, feeling just the slightest bit uncomfortable, "Yes."

"Conception is possible, though difficult. But there are some Architects who were born, not made." he said. "As I was saying, He created many other Architects, and we and those went out and made our own Realms. Along with this came the High Law: Each Architect to their own Realm."

"Let me guess," Art cut in again, "no matter what, no Architect can interfere in how another's Realm is run?"

"Exactly!" Numerin laughed, pointing at Art. "I believe some of her may still reside dormant within you." he said thoughtfully.

Art froze, "Excuse me?" he asked. What Numerin had said did not sit right with him. A piece of the Architect still within him? But how?

As if reading his mind, Numerin said, "Whenever an Architect feels like it is their time to die, they got to Aeon for permission – or power – to make an Heir. That is the norm. They will usually pass their powers through and into the Heir, so that this Heir will know how to govern their Realm properly. That is not always the case, but it does happen often."

Art frowned, "Wait, most create a new Heir?"

"Yes."

"So . . why did She not make one for herself?" Art asked, perplexed. "She had the power." he realized what he'd said and asked, "Right?"

Numerin frowned, "I am not sure whether She had such powers or not." he muttered thoughtfully. "Though, even if she did, she may not have remembered it anyway. Though you did say that she told _you_ that Her reasoning was simple: You were mortal, more creative."

Art held up a hand, "Wait! What do you mean by She may not have remembered?"

"I was getting to that." Numerin sighed. "Now, as I was saying, She butted heads with another Architect. About what, I do not know. I could probably guess, though. But, She picked the wrong one to fight with."

"Who was it?" Art asked.

"March, the Regent of War." Numerin answered sullenly.

Art took a guess, "An Old Architect?"

"Yes." Numerin answered, confirming Art's suspicions. "She managed to put up a fight, but . . ." he shook his head. "At the last moment I, and any others watching, looked away – mentally, I mean. None of us were actually present."

"Let me guess, you don't like watching another Architect die?" Art asked.

"That is precisely why." Numerin said. "Architect's do not die often, and when they do others do not enjoy such a thing. We turn away."

"So what-"

"The next thing we knew, March had ripped Her memory from Her in a single, tremendous blow. He then sent Her into one of the farthest reaches of the Void." he shook his head. "It was completely unprecedented. But, it bought Her a chance. Another one of our laws is that an Architect who is oblivious to us cannot be attacked, lest they suffer the wrath of Aeon and Architects like myself."

"So She was safe." Art murmured. "And afterwards-"

"She awoke – as if for the first time – thinking Herself the only existing being, and made the Secondary Realms. From instinct, probably. She made her own Realm."

"So, wait . . if there can be Architects that _are_ ignorant to your existence, then does that mean that some actually _do_ just come from Nothing?" Art asked.

"Yes," Numerin said, "though this is rare, and the Architects who come from Nothing on their own are generally none too powerful."

"So in many cases it's a good thing they are oblivious." Art surmised.

Numerin nodded, "Yes. And I do believe that covers everything." he said with a clap of his hands.

As Numerin stood up, Art piped up with, "Wait, now that I know about all of you, that means that I may be in danger of being attacked?" he asked, a sickening, doomed feeling building in the pit of his stomach.

Numerin furrowed his brow, "I doubt anyone – even March – would attempt to attack you. Though, I would suggest increasing your army's size, just to be sure. And it would probably deter any of the weaker Architects looking for conquest."

"I see." Art said, still feeling unsure. "Thank you, Numerin." he said. "For telling me this."

Numerin nodded, "Though, should you be attacked, you would have allies." he assured Art. "I will send you back to your Stair." he said. Art was about to say something when the pulsing light from the steps underfoot faded out. There was a loud, almost deafening roar – almost like a rush of air – and a sudden, blinding, white light filled everything around him. He was back on the Improbable Stair.

Back in his own Realm.


End file.
